Dad's Tools
by Severus Snape MiM
Summary: Severus helps his father in the basement. I haven't had this beta'd or proofread, so please forgive the occasional mistake that may be there.


One rainy Sunday afternoon I sat at the kitchen table, eating cookies and drinking milk as my mum cleaned up from lunch. There was a racket coming from the basement.

"What's dad doing down there?" I mumbled. My mouth was full of munched up cookie.

My mother shook her head in disgust. "We do not speak with our mouths full, Severus," she said.

BANG!

She jumped visibly, and I felt my heart rate increase.

"It sounds to me like he's taking the house down," she said.

I returned to eating my cookies, swinging my feet that couldn't quite reach the floor as I sat on the kitchen chair. I popped the last bit of cookie in my mouth and drained my milk.

"Why don't you go downstairs and help him," my mother said suddenly from her place at the kitchen sink. She was doing the washing up. Her back was to me, and I couldn't see her face.

"Are you kidding?" I said. I wasn't usually allowed in the basement. There were all sorts of weird things down there. Tools and nails and saws. Rubbish that my family had collected along the way. Our basement held all sorts of potential for trouble.

My mum scooted me off my chair, and shooed me out of the kitchen. "I won't have you making a habit of this, but just this once you can go down there. I think your father needs someone to keep him out of trouble.

I opened the basement door, and began making my way down the stairs. The banging was louder without the barrier of the basement door between us, and I could hear Dad swearing under his breath. A loud thud and a gruff shout indicated that he had apparently dropped something on his foot.

"Dad?" I said softly. I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to be a part of whatever my father was up to in the basement. It sounded too painful.

He was crouched at the floor, rubbing his foot. He looked up at the sound of my voice, and his face softened at the sight of me.

"Severus," he said. What are you doing down here?

I hesitated. "Mum said I should help…?" It sounded much more like a question than a statement.

"Oh," he said. He got to his feet and brushed the dust from his blue work trousers. "Well, pull up a chair, Son!"

I looked around. There were a number of oddly matched chairs laying around in no particular order. I chose one and sat down. Once seated, I took in my surroundings. The walls were lined with small silver hooks, and from each hook hung a tool. Wrenches, screw drivers, an angry looking hand saw.

"What are you building, Dad?" I said.

"Well," he answered, "I'm trying to build some new bookshelves for your mother. She's got her romance novels cluttering up every surface in the house. I'm trying to bring a spot of order to her life." He paused, and shook his head fondly. "Do you think you could hold the wood still for me while I hammer the nails in?"

I nodded.

He indicated a plank of wood. "Hold it here then, Son," he said. I put my hands where my father indicated. He carefully lined up a nail and the whacked it with his hammer. His coordination was lacking.

"Aaaaggghhhh!" He'd missed the nail entirely, and his scream was soon muffled by his thumb in his mouth. The hammer clattered to the floor.

"May I try, Dad?' I asked.

He looked at me, his face still twisted in pain. "Well," he started, and he removed his thumb from his mouth and cradled it in his other hand. "I suppose you could give it a try. You couldn't possibly do worse than I'm doing on my own. But…" his voice trailed off, and he looked at the door at the top of the stairs, "let's not mention this to your mum, eh?"

I nodded my understanding. Mum could be silly when it came to letting my do things she perceived as being "dangerous." To my mother, all tools were dangerous because she didn't understand them. She was from an old pureblood family that used wands for everything, so she couldn't be blamed.

I took the hammer from where it lay abandoned on the floor. Dad lined up a nail and held it for me. 

"Nice and slow now, Severus," he said softly.

I gave a silent prayer that I wouldn't bash my old man's fingers. I held the hammer in my right hand, gave it a swing, and bashed the nail on its head with skill that looked positively expert. I repeated the action several times until the nail was embedded in the wood.

My father didn't say anything for a moment. I was stunned myself. The silence between us stretched for several minutes.

"Nice job, Son," he eventually said.

My dad had been slaving away, surviving close brushes with finger amputation all day in an attempt to build this contraption for my mother, and I came along and hit the nail perfectly on the very first try. It was nothing more than a moment of dumb luck on my part. This would surely drive a wedge between us. He might even think I used magic! He would view it as another disadvantage of being a Muggle. I felt horrible.

Finally my father smiled, and his expression clearly showed that what he felt was for me in that moment was not resentment, but pride. "Nice job, Severus," he said.

I smiled too. Perhaps everything would be all right after all.


End file.
